The Ghost in Our Infinity
by BourneUnicorn
Summary: A follow-up to The Fault in Our Stars, six months after Augustus' funeral. Spoilers, of course. I won't say much more, except that you are more than welcome to read my continuation.
1. Chapter 1

**_CHAPTER UNO_******

"Hazel Grace, you pissed the bed."

I jolt awake, sitting up fiercely. That small action makes me short of breath. Gus told me I pissed the bed. _Mortified. _I remember how I walked in on him, laying in a puddle of his urine, and using that word. _Mortified. _I feel the same way he did, now.

"Now I know what you mean," I grumbled to him. I put my head in my hands and waited for his warm arms to slide across my back and envelop me in a comforting hug. When I've been waiting just a bit too long, my eyes well up with tears- I've been overly emotional, lately- and I look up. He doesn't want to touch the gross, pee-covered, cancerous girl. Of course. "Can you go get my-"

That's when it hits me that I'm talking to myself. The chair beside my bed is empty, and no one is in my room. _Oh yeah, _I think, _Gus is dead. _The thought comes so frankly to me now. It's been six months since his funeral, as of one week ago. I used to cry whenever that thought crossed my mind, but I'm pretty sure I've used up all the tears my tumor-struck body could produce. Plus, nowadays, breaths are harder to come by, especially gasping, grieving ones.

But, I did piss the bed. I let out a shortened version of a sigh and begin to heave myself out of bed. I don't need my parent's help- they still need to adjust to doing things for themselves. My mom has started hovering less, and my dad hasn't cried in two weeks, but I want them to be almost detached from me by the time I go.

I begin to strip the bed and throw the sheets onto the floor. After fifteen minutes of fighting with breath and blankets, it's just a mattress. Nothing leaked onto there, luckily. I stumble over to my covers and begin with the comforter, my heaviest blanket. My scrawny hands ball it up and lift it towards my chest. Slowly but steadily, I make my way towards the door- holding a massive comforter in one arm and pulling Philip with the other is the struggle.

My parents are on their computers as I'm trying to pass. As quietly as I can, I push the comforter into the washing machine and wheel Philip back to my room. The whole sneaking mission takes my breath away- literally. However, I allow myself only a minute of rest. It's almost dinnertime, where my mom will ask if I want food and I'll say no. That requires her coming to my room, meaning she'd see my bed and soiled blankets.

Once the clock changes from the last minute, I rise from my bed. Black spots cloud the edges of my vision as I bend down to pick up the next blanket. I cough a bit. This time I'm going for the lighter sheets. I try to focus on balling them up, not my breathing, but that's pretty hard when I start having a coughing fit and gasping for breath.

Before I can even think to call for my parents, a blackness envelops me like I wanted Augustus' arms to.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER DOS **

"...ever happened. Do you think that..."

"...still running..."

My eyes slowly open. Vision blurry, hearing muffled. I see my parents standing at the foot of my bed- my hospital bed- having a conversation. _What are you all talking about? _I meant to say that, not think it. I open my mouth and try again, but there's just a quiet, strangled screech emerging from my throat.

My mother looks over at me. At first, her face portrays the message of "oh God, how long have you been awake?", but she quickly switches it to a saddened, motherly-style look. Well a mother-with-a-cancerous-daughter-ly style. "Hazel," she begins sweetly, "Don't try to talk right now. Dr. Maria said you won't be able to right now."

_Why? _Again, the strangled sound instead of actual words.

Dr. Maria enters the room, a grim look on her face. Immediately, I hear my dad sniffling and my mom murmuring some form of pleads or prayers or whatever under her breath. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one in the room [besides the doctor] who doesn't look like an emotional mess- I do hold the traits of a physical mess, however.

She clasps her hands together. My parents simultaneously take a seat in the two chairs by my bed. Dr. Maria lets out a sigh. "Well, you've heard almost every sugar-coated thing the Oncology wing of this hospital has to offer, so I'm not going to fluff it up. Is that alright?" I'm too weak to nod, or look at my parents to see them nod, but I assume it's a yes, because she continues. "Your cancer has caught up to the Phalanxifor, Hazel. The mets in your lungs have grown larger, and we're trying very hard to drain all of that liquid hindering your breaths, but..."

"You're not having much luck." My voice is raspy, and I have to take a wheezy breath between each word. At least I can talk. But that small sentence was absolutely exhausting. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the bag of amber liquid. It's almost full, and still filling up. Never, since the first time the beer-colored substance attacked my lungs, had I'd seen that much coming from me. That was before the Phalanxifor. And now, there's an after.

I flutter my eyes to focus on Dr. Maria. Blackness is beginning to spot my vision again. She purses her lips and trains her eyes back at me. "Let me give you the rundown, Hazel. I believe you deserve to hear it straight from me, nothing left out, nothing added."

That was one of the first things she said to me when I was originally diagnosed. When we were sure I was dying soon. I'd ended up living then... _maybe I can do it again. _Such a hopeful, unrealistic thought, This was the end. The literal end.

She took a step so she was between me and my parents. "Just the bare facts. You'll be exhausted very easily, now. You'll sleep quite a lot. The mets will most likely branch out from your lungs and attack the rest of you. You have two options from here on out," she said. The sad thing was, the way she said it, you could tell it was routine. How many dying kids did she have to say this to? "We can carry out regular chemo. This should give you roughly five months more. You've done chemo before, but this one will be more frequent and more aggressive, alright? But, you'll have at least two good months out of the five."

Five months left. At most. And I remembered chemo: loosing my hair, constant vomiting, all the radiation... I hated it. And, on top of that, she said it would be frequent. And more aggressive. Plus, I'd stay at the hospital forever. It would be my deathbed.

"Or, you can go home. We'll give you morphine, sleeping pills, and a hospital bed, where you would be to sleep. Yes, you'd get to be home. However, these are the things that will happen at home: there will be no more portable oxygen tank, only the BiPAP." No more Philip. "Also, your lungs will fill up much more frequently. We will give your parents something to try and prevent it, but it is very temporary. Other than that, there's no treatment. You will be restricted to solely wheelchair transport, but you are, for the most part, under a policy of bed rest." Well, that sucks. Perhaps I'd be able to read _AIA _twenty more times, though. Or get it on an audiobook, if I'll be this weak. "At most, you will have three months. Almost none of the days in these months will be pleasant." So, I've most likely lived out all of my good days, already. "You will find yourself weaker and weaker, and will probably have a G-tube inserted..."

I lost whatever pint of breath I had. The G-tube. The gas station. I winced. Already, I'd been pushing down the idea that Augustus probably heard some talk similar to this. But then, the G-tube. I still remember when he called me around two in the morning, and had the vomit all over himself, and the infected G-tube, and the cigarettes he wanted because he lost his other pack...

_He couldn't even not smoke. _I'm going down the same path he was. _I can't even not smoke._

"And those are your choices," my doctor says sympathetically. "I'll give you all some time to think it over..." She begins making her way to the door when my father pipes up.

"Dr. Maria," he starts, "Wait. We know what we want."

"We want Hazel to come home," my mother finishes. I widen my eyes. I wanted to stay at the hospital, and avoid being a burden to them. I don't want them facing the fact I died in their house.

All of these reasons and more also make me angry that they didn't confer with me before deciding. _I'm the one who's dying. _But, then again, I love them for it. They want to care for me. I know what they're thinking: chemo could make me a shell of myself. Even if I'm weak and dying, I can still be myself. My parents want me to die as myself, not a shell.

Dr. Maria nods solemnly. "Alright," she glances over to me, where I offer the smallest nod in humanity, but the biggest one I can muster. "I'll place the order for the bed and medication. You should be able to leave tomorrow morning."

She exits, and my parents swoop up from their chairs and smother me in hugs without restricting my breathing any further. My eyes roll up to the ceiling tiles, where I simply observe their white speckled pattern.

"Can..." I attempt at clearing my throat, only to wheeze a moment later. "We need an audiobook of-of..." I cough lightly.

My mother smiles slightly, wiping the tears smearing her mascara from her face. "Yes, Hazel. We'll get it today."

I smile at her, and then train my eyes past them, on Augustus. "I got you some cigarettes," he says with that crooked smile of his, "in case you wanna join me in not smoking."

So, maybe I can not smoke, after all. "Why, of course, Augustus," I say, as cheerful as possible, "I'd love to partake in this metaphor with you."

He winks, and I close my eyes.


End file.
